


mind the jagged edges

by HearJessRoar



Category: Julie and The Phantoms (TV)
Genre: Established Relationship, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Pain, hey remember that theory that the stamp makes them relive their deaths, well that'd be real painful wouldn't it, you know how willie got hit by a car
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2020-12-01
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:41:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,612
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27824686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HearJessRoar/pseuds/HearJessRoar
Summary: He knows exactly what the stamp can do if Caleb chooses to use its power.Heknows.Sowhydoes it take him by surprise when he ends up doubled over in the middle of Sunset Boulevard, clutching at his left side while pain radiates from just above his right eye?
Relationships: Alex & Julie Molina & Luke Patterson & Reggie & Willie, Alex/Willie (Julie and The Phantoms)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 352





	mind the jagged edges

He knows exactly what the stamp can do if Caleb chooses to use its power.

He _knows._

So _why_ does it take him by surprise when he ends up doubled over in the middle of Sunset Boulevard, clutching at his left side while pain radiates from just above his right eye?

Willie takes in a deep breath through his nose, and _yes_ he’s very aware that he hasn’t needed to breathe in over thirty years, but that doesn’t matter because the routine of it is comforting and he just _really really needs to get air into his lungs and he can’t-_

The bruise on his back is screaming, that rectangular mottling with the feathery grill marks from that shiny red Chevy completely _on fire_ under his shirt, and as he struggles to gasp it occurs to him for the first time that he probably broke some ribs just before he hit lights out forever.

His lungs feel too small and too weak and there’s black spots dancing before his eyes and _god_ was this what it was like when Alex was being zapped? He’d mentioned tasting blood at the back of his throat, but Willie had a different death and it's like he’s being crushed.

He coughs and everything _hurts_. It feels like there’s a pool ball rolling around in the left side of his ribcage, bouncing around like a mass of heavy pain that he can’t get rid of.

And just as suddenly as it started, it stops.

He straightens up, tears streaming from his eyes. They soak into the collar of his shirt and the ends of his hair, leaving salty sticky tracks down his face in their wake. The air tastes crisper in the aftermath, and the echoing ghost of pain twitches in his shoulderblades as he _tries tries tries_ to shake it off. But it’s there, lurking under his skin, and the burning in his wrist reminds him that no matter what he does now, his existence hinges on the whims of a very vindictive and unpredictable man.

All he wants is a hug.

But he brought this on himself, and he doesn’t want to bother Alex with the fallout of his mistakes. So instead of giving in to every aching part of him that is _pleading_ and reaching out to go find Alex, he picks up his board, and heads for the pier.

_not here not now-_ is all he can think, midway through their performance as he stumbles, misses the beat and comes down wrong on his foot.

_this is just petty_

He keeps his smile plastered to his face even though his entire being is begging for him to sit down, forcing himself through the steps even as his lungs threaten to collapse under the pain of his phantom broken ribs.

With every move he wants to sob.

But he’s just as stubborn as Caleb is, and when he turns around during the finale, he notes that Caleb looks at him like he’s trying to assess if he’s won something or not.

Willie refuses to give him the satisfaction of knowing that he hurts like hell.

He breathes through it, imagining taking all the pain of his death and rolling it up and shoving it into a deep dark pit.

It doesn’t really work, but compartmentalizing has always been a talent of his, so he still manages to let his spite outweigh the screaming shrieking _agony_ that demands his attention.

Caleb looks away.

Willie doesn’t call it a victory.

And when he collapses backstage, sliding to the floor with his back against the wall as the showgirls step right over him, he admits to himself that battles can be won but he's going to lose this war in the end.

Myrna, their beautiful jazz dancer whose signature trick is appearing from under a tablecloth, is the only one to give him a second glance.

She had been one of Caleb's assistants back in the day, and has known him longer than anyone else in the club.

She says nothing, but reaches out and pets his hair, tucking a strand that's come loose behind his ear.

Willie can't blame the showgirls for not wanting to get involved; being seen comforting him would put them in Caleb's line of fire as well, and he knows that the only reason Myrna can risk it is her long friendship with their boss.

He appreciates the gesture, even as his lungs feel caught in a vice grip. The stamp on his wrist shines through his skin as hot tears prick at the corners of his eyes.

He won’t cry, he _won’t_ , not here. Not in the place where he’d so desperately wanted to thrive all those years ago, when he’d offered up his loyalty freely in exchange for a place to go.

Never here.

When it happens in front of Alex, Willie is both ashamed and relieved.

He's mad that Caleb is scaring Alex using him, he's upset that Alex has to witness this; him hunched over with gritted teeth, his hand pressed to his side like he can shove the broken ribs he no longer has back into place. He's losing vision in his right eye as the phantom feeling of road grit takes over his temple like sandpaper.

But he's so so grateful to finally have someone who cares enough to ask how to help him.

And that's so selfish, because he _knows_ that Alex is terrified out of his mind right now, and it's not fair that the thought of someone touching him while he’s wheezing his way through this is _unbearable_ because even the softest touch from Alex would make the hurt _so much worse_ and all he wants is for Alex to hold him anyway.

So they're at an impasse, Alex’s hands hovering over his shoulders and Willie begging through his teeth not to touch him, please don't, everything hurts so much, _Alex help me help me oh god i want my mom help-_

Alex listens, because of course he does, and stands beside him all the way through it, twisting his fingers anxiously until the jolt passes.

Willie hits the ground hard, the air around him too cool and making his lungs ache with it as regret for their ruined park date washes over him.

Alex is knelt next to him immediately as Willie puts his head between his knees, trying to stave off the dizziness and the nausea that follows these episodes.

His fingers brush over the back of Willie’s neck and he knows that Alex is purposely avoiding the bruise on his back because the last thing Alex has ever wanted to do is hurt him. He’s thankful, because that long set bruise is currently searing with pain that shouldn't exist anymore.

"How long has this been happening?" Alex asks, his voice low and serious with suppressed rage.

Willie shrugs, adamantly not meeting his gaze. "....couple weeks, I guess."

 _since the day after you escaped him_ , he refuses to say.

Because he knows that this is two birds with one stone; Caleb gets to punish him for disobedience, and he gets to torture Alex at the same time. A win-win for someone spiteful. 

But he won’t give Caleb the satisfaction of guilting Alex. 

He _won’t._

Alex moves the tangled strands of hair away from his face, tilts Willie’s chin up and for one wild second Willie is certain he's about to get a really poorly timed kiss, but no, Alex just wants to look him in the eye.

He's a little disappointed by that.

"Can you stand?"

And the thing is that every time this happens, it takes more and more out of him, and he can tell that his legs are practically jelly and if he stands, Willie is worried he'll end up right back on the ground and that will just upset Alex even more because then he’ll have lied to him _and_ be in pain at the same time and quite frankly he doesn’t want to deal with it anymore.

So he shakes his head no truthfully and Alex nods. "Okay. So. Normally I'd totally carry you, but-" and Alex holds up his hand.

Willie’s dead heart _sinks_ , because anxiety aside, Alex is someone he considers pretty good at handling an actual crisis while it’s happening.

And his steady steady drummer boy is shaking so hard that Willie can actually see the tremors rocking his arms.

"I'm scared I'm gonna drop you while I'm like this. Stay here a second?"

Willie nods, and in a flash, Alex is gone.

And being alone is so much worse.

He scrubs at his eyes and wills himself not to cry. The last thing he wanted was to let Alex know about this, to worry him after everything Willie had already done to ruin his afterlife.

But it's such a _relief_ to know that someone _cares_ that he's hurting.

He was on his own for so so long. Even after joining the club, those were coworkers who he saw during shifts, or lifers who wanted to ogle slackjawed at the sad little dead boy who took a Silverado to the spine and didn't live to tell the tale.

Someone caring about him as a person has been a pipe dream for so long that the idea still seems slightly sideways, like he's looking at it through a cloudy window.

He hadn't even seen the returning light flare, and when Luke appears in his line of sight, he jumps.

Alex stands behind Luke, chewing on his thumbnail anxiously. And as Luke gives him a reassuring smile, Willie can easily see why everyone likes him so much. There's something about his attitude that says he believes everything will be okay, and it makes Willie almost believe it, too.

What a power Luke has, and he doesn't even know it.

"Hey dude. We're gonna get you home, okay? Reg, get his other side-"

And for one horrible moment, Willie thinks hysterically that they mean they're gonna take him back to the club, but no of course they don't, they mean _home_ home, their home, they mean _Julie-_

As soon as Reggie and Luke have him balanced between them, his arms over their shoulders, and their hands linked under his knees so he's still sitting and he doesn't have to rely on his shaking legs, they zap out.

Alex must have informed Julie of the situation when he’d gone to get the guys, because she’s already perched on the sofa when they all pop in. She’s on her feet in a second, hands fluttering like she doesn’t know what to do with them.

And she probably doesn’t, he knows. None of them are exactly sure how she broke Caleb’s hold on her boys, and even if they did, he’s very certain that it wouldn’t work for him.

He isn’t _hers_ , not the way that Luke and Reggie and Alex are. His soul was traded long ago for the promise of safety, of friends, of _forever_ , and he can’t offer it to her the way that they unknowingly have.

They set him carefully down, sideways on the sofa. Alex crawls in behind him, his chest to Willie’s back, and his arms draped loosely over his hips. He’s still scared of hurting him more, and Willie’s heart is breaking for him.

Julie sits by his feet, reaches out and takes hold of his hands. “I don’t know how to fix this,” she says, tears welling up in her eyes. Willie gives her the tiniest smile.

“You can’t,” he says. The aftershocks of the jolt have worn off, and he feels better. Tired, sore in a way that he hadn’t felt for thirty some years before this started, but better. He tips his head back, rests it on Alex’s collarbone. “I need to tell you something.”

“...kay.”

Willie swallows, closes his eyes. “The day we met, I was on an errand for Caleb when I ran you over. I started thinking about it and I think this whole thing is a lot bigger than any of us knew.”

Luke takes a seat on the coffee table, gives him a look with his eyebrows furrowed as he rests his elbows on his knees. “What do you mean?”

“Like, this is some sort of giant conspiracy that Caleb set up from the moment we came back from the dark room? Maybe even since we died?” Reggie asks, taking Alex’s usual job of pacing across the floor.

Willie shakes his head. “I don’t know if I’d go that far. But you said he bumped into you before we met, right?”

“Yeah. Outside the Orpheum, the night we returned.”

“Caleb’s power is _souls._ He must have read you, realized exactly how he could use you, and then used _me_ to get to you,” his voice cracks and Alex holds him tighter. “I’m so sorry, you guys.”

Julie squeezes his hands. "Quit apologizing or I'll break your feet off at the ankles."

And Willie barks out a startled laugh at that. "I already keep reliving getting hit by a truck, Jules. Haven't I suffered enough?"

She reaches out and pokes him in the forehead. "We've told you before, nobody blames you. So shut up and let us help."

Julie readjusts so she's holding both his hands in hers again. "The stamps broke when I was stressed about people I love being hurt. Maybe-"

"-maybe it's the power of love, Huey Lewis?" Willie cracks. Julie makes a face at him and grinds his fingers painfully together in her hands. "Ow, _okay_ Jules, sorry-"

"But what if you're not too far off?" Alex says. Willie can feel his voice reverberating from where he's still pressed close and it's comforting on a deep level. "Like, if Caleb's power is souls, why can't Julie’s be love?"

"What if it's belief?" Reggie asks, carding a hand through his hair. "Normally she'd fall right through Luke, but that night she believed he needed a hug. So it worked."

They all look at him, considering that.

"That's not bad," Julie says. "Keep that one in mind, I like that."

Willie shakes his head again, sighing a frustrated huff. "Listen, we can debate this until we all die twice, but there aren't any solid answers here. I don't think there ever will be," he continues in a mutter. His ribs twinge and he sucks in a sharp gasp through his nose, trying to prepare for the next jolt as he squeezes his eyes shut.

Julie and Alex both lean closer to him, sandwiching him like they can protect him from his own personal replay of death, and while it's completely misguided, it's also very sweet.

But the jolt doesn't come.

Not really.

He cracks an eye open, confused, and meets Julie’s equally befuddled gaze. She turns his hand over to look at his wrist, where the decade old purple stamp shines like a beacon just under the heel of his palm.

It's clearly still there, pulsing angrily, and he can feel it, but-

Nothing is happening.

She brushes her finger over it, disrupting the light. She yelps, pulling away immediately but not letting go of his hands. "It's hot," she says, which is weird because for the first time in weeks Willie can barely feel the burning of it.

The usual blinding pain by his eye has been reduced to a dull scrape, like someone turned the volume down on the head injury that stole his life.

And his ribs are still sore as he tries to draw in a shaky breath, but the screaming demand in them has gentled.

"...okay…" he says, and thinks it probably should be a little embarrassing that he's been picking up some of Alex’s inflections but _whatever_ because _what in the everloving hell just happened-_

"Are you alright?" asks Alex’s shaking voice by his ear and man, if that doesn't make Willie feel guilty as anything for scaring him today.

The stamp is flaring with flashes of brighter light, like Caleb keeps trying to force his will, but the pain doesn’t get any worse. It stays at a dull roar, just _existing_ like it’s always been there.

“I think I am,” Willie says, sounding far away to his own ears. “It still hurts, but-”

He spoke too soon.

The agony floods through him and he snaps his head back, nearly hitting Alex in the nose. Julie’s hands fumble for his fingers as he yanks away from her. He can hear Reggie and Luke yelling, scrambling to get to his side, but there’s nothing in his head but the white hot fire of his death being forced through his veins over and over. He doesn’t know if it’s sweat or tears dripping from his chin but either way the collar of his shirt is soaked.

And through all of it, Alex’s arms stay wrapped helplessly around his waist.

His snapped ribs protest that, the pressure too much for them, and he can’t breathe he can’t breathe he can’t breathe-

Something _cracks_.

And all at once, it’s over.

There’s no lingering, bone deep ache this time. Nothing to indicate that he’s just been shoved through the grinder and come out whole. 

Reggie has his hand around his ankle, Julie with her fingers pressed to his knees, and Luke has a grip on the sleeve of his shirt. Alex has him wrapped in his embrace like a koala, face buried in his shoulder that’s steadily becoming damp with his tears.

Willie looks at his hands.

The stamp is still there.

But it’s faded, like washed out pen marks, or an old tattoo.

And it no longer shines.

“Holy shit,” he breathes, half hysterical laughter in his voice. “ _He broke it._ ”

Alex snaps his head up. “What-”

“He accidentally broke it, he pushed too hard, that _dumbass_ -”

They all crowd around him, and Willie is overwhelmed by how much he really, truly loves these people. They _care_ and the thought makes him nearly giddy with relief.

And then Julie asks The Question.

“Does that mean you get your soul back?”

Willie swallows, ice creeping back into his stomach from his throat. And he wishes to god that he could lie to them, lie to their cautiously optimistic faces about how this works, but he _can’t,_ because they’re his friends and he’s already hurt them so much for one lifetime with his secrets.

“No.”

And their faces fall.

“I traded that to him, fair and square,” he says, avoiding eye contact. “But he broke his own power to hurt me, at least. He’d have to restamp me.”

Alex holds him impossibly tighter. “We won’t let him,” he promises, pressing his lips to Willie’s temple. Willie leans into him.

“I know you won’t,” he says. “You guys are cool like that. And,” he looks at them, at Reggie and Luke and Julie, these amazing people who don’t have to give a single damn about him and do anyway, and smiles. “Thanks.”

It doesn’t cover it. 

The word is too small to encompass his gratitude. 

To Julie, for being an absolute angel and giving him connection to the world of the living. 

To Reggie, for including him like he’s always been here. 

To Luke, for forgiving him even after the mess he got them into. 

To Alex, for following him even when he probably shouldn’t have.

And to all of them at once, for giving him a place to go, the first place he’s been unconditionally welcome since 1987.

Julie makes a slightly sarcastic “aww” noise, reaches out and boops his nose. “You’re a sap. Getting your feelings all over my studio. Gross,” but her eyes are glossy and everyone can hear her sniffle.

Luke pulls away from their little huddle over the couch first, stretching. His back pops audibly and Reggie makes a nauseated face while Julie smacks a pillow at Luke’s stomach. “Way to ruin the moment, _Lucas_."

Luke ignores her, pushing the pillow away. “I’m thinking movie night. Willie’s choice.”

Julie protests. “Oh no, _Julie’s_ choice, because you guys only ever want to watch 80s movies and if I have to sit through Blade Runner one more time-”

“Princess Bride,” Alex interrupts, still wrapped around Willie like he doesn’t plan on ever letting go. That sets off a whole new set of bickering, and Willie basks in the sound of it.

He’d never had friends like this when he’d been alive, and he hadn’t had any since he’s been dead, either. The easy back and forth, the way the love between them is nearly visible even as they needle at each other over stupid little things like who gets to pick the movie.

And even when they give in to Alex’s choice (because Willie had seconded it and he has the feeling none of them would say no to him after the day he’s had) and Alex shifts so he’s leaned up against Willie’s shoulder instead, they still all pile onto the couch that’s not quite big enough for all five of them at once. Reggie takes the floor and his arm ends up curled around Willie’s calf. Julie is on his other side, one hand up and tangled absently in the ends of his hair, her legs in Luke’s lap.

Caleb is still haunting the back of his mind, and he wonders if he should show up for his shift at the club tomorrow or not, but those are questions he wants to deal with later.

For now, the pain has left him, and all he wants is to soak in the comfort of friends and a flickering laptop screen.

**Author's Note:**

> i have chronic pain from a mishealed broken rib and i had a really bad pain day two days ago and still had to go to work.
> 
> so. i projected onto willie and it kind of got away from me a bit. oops. as always don't be shocked if it gets edited later.
> 
> pls comment if you liked it and then go check out my other jatp pieces. ilu!


End file.
